


Silence

by andrean182



Series: Not Exactly for Combat [10]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6533791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrean182/pseuds/andrean182
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brawl was a mech of silence, not because he wanted to be left alone, but because of other reasons...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Fraggit, I can't resist on writing this :3

Brawl was a mech of silence. He didn’t like loudness; every time he felt the situation became too loud, he’d walk away and look for somewhere else he could read his datapad. In the middle of the day, when it was refuelling time, the Decepticon rec room would be crowded with mechs, and the noise was just too much for him; he’d just come by to take his ration, and then return back to his room, or their rec room if it was quiet enough. Blitzwing had once asked him to spar, but he politely refused it because the training room was too busy at that time. Next time Blitzwing asked him, he told the other tank to spar in the Combaticon’s training room.

Even though he disliked the noise, his team’s noise was the only one he could tolerate. It was comforting, after all, making him know that they were still there. They were his family. And they had to take care of each other. Sometimes when his team threw a party, he’d sat by silence in the corner, or the sofa, and watched his teammates dancing around the rec room of the Combaticon HQ, smiling behind his masque. Sometimes he’d like to join them; sometimes he laughed softly when Blast Off or Swindle made funny jokes, or rolled his eyes when Onslaught fell on his aft.

His team understood this. They’d let Brawl enjoy his silence when he needed. Sometimes Vortex stayed just by his side or across his seat in the rec room, not doing anything loud, he was just there, maybe also reading a datapad or resting. He’d flinch a bit when Vortex touched him or rubbed his thread, but he then relaxed and allowed him. Sometimes when it was getting very uncomfortable, he’d ask Vortex to stop it and the copter would stop. Sometimes Blast Off also brought him datapads; from where did he get those, he didn’t really know. Blast Off would reply that he got those from the storage room when he was on duty.

He liked to do his mission alone, but he was also glad when he had company of his team. He knew, all of them was still recovering from that of the Protectobots, but Hook said that they made a quick recovery. As a team, and a gestalt, they had each other. And he was glad that his team was the best team he ever had.

But sometimes, when he was too tired of the things around him, he’d go to the roof of their base. Megatron would ask, did he meet him, why is he so tense. He’d reply that it was okay, he was just in need of time alone, and the professor would give him his time. He liked to watch the sky from the roof; the sky was the only thing that wasn’t destroyed by the war. The ground below and buildings ahead were nothing more than leftover of those that had stood. He liked to remember his home before the war; he liked to remember when he still had his family.

Just like now.

The stars glimmered in a small opening of the cloud. He laid by the rooftop, watching the blackish clouds move above him. Night was his friend; it was when he could lay there without anyone disturbing him. Today wasn’t a very good day. They lost the battle with the Autobots, most of the Decepticons were in the medbay, including Onslaught and Blast Off. Their damage wasn’t the worst, but still it gave him a nasty feeling as if he was going to lose them. For good.

He was tired of his war.

A part of him knew that this was caused by the experiment the Protectobots did to them. He wasn’t like this before, hiding his fears and worries over his team behind curtains of ignorance and silence. He didn’t want them to know; their burden was heavy enough.

He sighed and sat up, pulling his masque aside. His side of the gestalt bond was still closed; he didn’t want his team to know that he was worried to death of them. It would only delay their recovery. They couldn’t sense him, but he also couldn’t sense them. He had yet to find a way to know their feelings without them knowing his own. But, it would be selfish.

They were a gestalt. Gestalt shouldn’t keep secrets from one another. Motormaster and the Stunticons made a good example; Motormaster was always there when his team need him, and his team cared about him back in return. It wasn’t like he didn’t care about Onslaught, or anyone in his team for that matter, but still, the Stunticons left a scratch in his ember, one that he had yet to figure how to fix it. To his team, not only to himself.

That scratch left a stinging ache. He was here uproof, alone. Sometimes he hated himself for not being able to cope with his own problem. His team needed him, and he was too selfish to come to them. A drop of tear fell from behind his visor; he was too selfish. He hated himself. He hated himself for not being able to be there when his team needed him. He hated himself for ignoring their shared problem and focusing on himself when he knew they all hurting in the same way. He hated himself for being such a weakling.

He hated himself for not being honest when he had the chance.

A few footsteps echoed from the stairs to the rooftop, making him turned to look and wiped his face. It was Onslaught, running to him with an exhausted and worried look on his face. His armour was clean, but still dented here and there, and there was a patch on his left shoulder. Looking at him made him feeling queasy.

“Brawl? Where have you been? We’ve been looking for you!”

An excuse; he knew. They knew he was often here.

Onslaught sat beside him, panting. He reached out to touch him, but stopped in mid-air, hesitating. Calculating.

“A-are you okay?”

Not okay, he thought. He looked away, ashamed, not wanting his commander to know.

“Brawl?” Onslaught caressed his shoulder softly. “Tell me what’s wrong…?”

Brawl looked down. “Me.” he replied, in a tone so soft.

Onslaught kept quiet, silently telling him to continue.

Brawl sighed; maybe he should just tell him. It’s not good not to tell something for only his own good, anyway. “It’s me. I’m wrong. I should’ve been able to be there when you needed me, when you all needed me.”

“Brawl?”

“I should’ve been in the medbay now, but…” he buried his face in his hands. “I… can’t.”

“Why can’t you?” Onslaught let go of his shoulder, feeling him getting tense.

“I… Onslaught, I just… can’t. I don’t know why.”

“It’s okay, Brawl.” Onslaught took hold of his hands, removing them from his face. He held them in his own, assuring him. Making him feel that someone cared.

Brawl knew this would come; it was one thing that his commander was good at doing. He relaxed into his touch, his hands uncurled and gripped his commander’s. He sighed and let his side of the bond open, and instantly the presence of the other four swarmed him, filling him with worry, anger, and care. As if they clawed at his spark, scratching it, to ease away the pain that had been there all along. Reaching out to physically touch him.

He let himself lay on Onslaught’s chest, listening to his emberbeat. No words were needed when they could feel each other’s emotion, sensation, feelings. Onslaught hugged him close, as if he didn’t want him to go. As if he had no means of leaving him. As if he told him that they were there if he needed him, they weren’t going away.

Brawl sighed and sent soothing sensations through the bond, to tell them that he was okay. He sent all his feelings in hoping they understand. And of course, they understood. They understood his need of silence and solitude, but never had they left him alone. They were always there for him. He needed them, like they needed him. He knew they’d give everything he needed, and he’d try his best to return the favour.

The bond eased, the pain soothed away, and again, there was silence. Onslaught still hugged him, rubbing his chest softly. He could feel the patch in his commander’s shoulder stinging, but Onslaught didn’t do anything to make it stop. So he sent soothing sensations to him. And his commander responded just as softly.

He liked silence, not because he wanted to be left alone. Sometimes maybe, but in silence, he could think. In silence, he could enjoy his surroundings. In silence, he could understand better.

In silence, he could feel his own and his team’s feelings for each other. That they were a gestalt, and they care for each other.


End file.
